


That One Regret Is You

by AsgardianHorsemanship



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who RPF, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens (TV) RPF, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alien Gender/Sexuality, Angel/Demon Relationship, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Canon Compliant, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Doctor Feels (Doctor Who), Doctor Who Feels, Fluid Sexuality, Hurt Crowley, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Inside the TARDIS (Doctor Who), M/M, Male Homosexuality, Meddling TARDIS, Mentioned War Doctor (Doctor Who), Minor Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Multiple Doctors (Doctor Who), Ninth Doctor's Regeneration, Non-Canon Relationship, POV Alternating, POV Crowley (Good Omens), POV Tenth Doctor, POV The Doctor (Doctor Who), Post-Regeneration (Doctor Who), Post-Time War (Doctor Who), Pre-Regeneration (Doctor Who), Protective Crowley, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Referenced Time War (Doctor Who), Regeneration (Doctor Who), Regeneration Angst (Doctor Who), Sad Tenth Doctor, Sentient TARDIS, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Sorry Not Sorry, Story within a Story, Tenth Doctor Era, Tenth Doctor's Regeneration, The Doctor (Doctor Who) Needs a Hug, The Doctor (Doctor Who) is a Mess, The Doctor on His Own, The TARDIS Ships It (Doctor Who), Time Lord Biology (Doctor Who), Time Lord Physiology (Doctor Who), Time Lord Sexuality (Doctor Who), Time War (Doctor Who), Time War Angst (Doctor Who), Travelling in the TARDIS (Doctor Who), Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:54:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22189741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsgardianHorsemanship/pseuds/AsgardianHorsemanship
Summary: The Doctor's newest regeneration brings him a face from his past. A face he'd tried to forget for centuries.Why now? Why show him this face once more and make him live with it. He looked into the mirror and saw the demon Crowley's face staring back at him.His past is beginning to resurface and he doesn't like it one bit.So basically, I had this headcanon about the Tenth Doctor's face thanks to Good Omens and it was itching to be turned into a fic so here we are. Not sure where it is going all I know is I need to write it down and put my headcanon into proper words.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) & Ninth Doctor, Crowley (Good Omens) & Tenth Doctor, Crowley (Good Omens) & The Doctor, Crowley (Good Omens) & The War Doctor, Crowley (Good Omens)/Tenth Doctor
Comments: 29
Kudos: 89





	1. The Fear of Falling Apart

The Doctor stared at his reflection in the mirror; he raised his hands to his face and traced the lines of it, the easily arch-able eyebrows, the sharp cheek bones, the line of his jaw. Even the hair…

The Doctor had a secret, a secret he had never spoken of to anyone, nor ever would, a secret more close to his hearts than his own name, more well hidden than the War Doctor, a secret he held tightly in his chest, that tugged at him every time he was alone. He’d managed to hide it away, file it in the recesses of his great memory and tried to forget. To ignore. But now? Now he was staring at that secret, staring straight into it and the realisation that he could no longer hide from it was tearing him apart. He’d kept his composure well around Rose; he was used to hiding, to lying, to pretending. But now he was alone he felt like a great pit was opening up under his feet, how could he live with this face? His dreams were already so haunted by it.

It was all getting to be a bit too much, he moved closer to the mirror, staring into the eyes that now inhabited this face, his face, how could he ever get used to saying that, calling it his face. Thank goodness those eyes were his own. A small mercy really.

He felt his hearts contract and a sob broke free from his throat, he squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling tears begin to fall across his cheeks. He felt the warm liquid hit his fingers and slide over them. He stepped back from the mirror until he hit the seat of his TARDIS and his knees gave way. He dropped into it and balled his fists into his eyes as the sobs began to wrack his body, his breath coming in gasps, his tears rolling freely down his face. He cried into his hands for what felt like hours, struggling to regain composure. He’d excused himself, saying he needed to sort out a few things and had left Rose back at the flat. He needed to be alone with himself.

She could never know. No one could ever know, the sort of knowledge that he possessed was hard enough to live with, but the knowledge this face had given him was knowledge no mortal being should ever have.

He finally managed to stop crying and went to get a cloth, he wet it and wiped his face down, scrubbing at the tear tracks, trying to clean everything away until the face was gone. He scrubbed until it hurt and more tears threatened to spill forth. He couldn’t get rid of this face, he was going to have to look at this face every day until, well who knew, it could be centuries. His last regeneration had lasted 300 years. And a century of that had been spent with this face he was wearing now. How was he going to survive this?

“Why?” He spoke to the air, his voice echoing around the TARDIS. “Why this face? Why him?”

 _A reminder_ , the voices in his head spoke back, the voices of his past, one in particular standing out. The War regeneration, the man who first met this face, _a reminder that kindness and love can be found in even the darkest of places, a token of understanding that you sorely need. You need to remember Doctor, for your heart grows darker every time you change your face, you need to be shown that even the most evil creature is capable of remorse, love, compassion. This face changed you Doctor, but you have forgotten…_

The Doctor slammed his hands into the control panel of the TARDIS, knuckles turning white as he gripped it with all his strength, his teeth bared, gritted against the memories, the pain, the loss that flooded into him, spilling through the Doctor’s words inside his head.

_You have forgotten…_

“I could never forget.” He cried out, his voice breaking until he could barely breathe. “I tried, I can’t.” His breathless voice stirred the dust around him and he slammed his fist into the metal panel until it hurt.

**

Crowley sat down on a bench in Christ’s Pieces, a hilariously named park in Cambridge that he claimed he liked purely because of its ridiculous name and how it made him feel rather great to be a demon sitting in a park named that. But it wasn’t the only reason that sometimes he’d appear here just to sit on a bench. There were all manner of weird and wonderful parks in London he could lounge in, but this one was special. Well. Okay. Special probably wasn’t the right word for it.

Crowley was a very good liar; he’d gotten rather used to it over the years. He didn’t so much lie as leave out the truth and be so brutally honest about other things that people thought he was constantly lying. It suited him, being a demon and all, he was supposed to lie and deceive. He always felt a kindred spirit to the charm of the elves from fantasy novels for that reason, it’s said they couldn’t lie, so of course they learned how to work the truth to their own means. That was what Crowley did mostly. Unless it was to Aziraphale, he had to admit he’d lied flat out to the Angel’s face so many times, it was all purely self protecting. He’d lie and say he was fine, it was nothing, he didn’t think that, he didn’t do that, he did in fact do that. All to keep up pretences, appearances, over the centuries it became easier and easier to not tell the Angel the whole truth.

One of the biggest lies he’d ever told was that he had slept through the entire 19th Century. The worst part was really how easily they all believed him, Hell, Aziraphale, Heaven, no one questioned it. They all just looked at Crowley and went ‘yup, he’d do that’.

It should have hurt but, it didn’t. It should have hurt when the Angel so easily accepted his lie when he disappeared. A century without Aziraphale should have hurt. But it didn’t. Well, okay it did a bit but not like he had expected.

Crowley had not been sleeping in the 1800s, Crowley had been travelling. And he sat here now on this bench with some silly memorial plaque on it because of that. In the hopes of hearing a certain sound. A sound that used to take his breath away. He never heard it anymore. Maybe that sound now purposefully avoided this place because of him, it’d make sense really.

He lay back on the bench, his long legs sweeping the ground as he was unable to keep them still, his toes bobbing, his nervous energy pent up inside him. He’d struggled after the Armageddon’t (blame Newt for that nickname, it had sadly stuck), and found himself returning to this spot more and more. He’d thought it would be easier now; finally he and Aziraphale could be together. Finally, there was no one breathing down their necks, threatening their settled human lives here on Earth. He’d spent the last six millennia pining after a creature of Heaven he believed he’d never be able to be with and now that they were free he was struggling to come to terms with it. He knew Aziraphale was too, the Angel had become slightly distant. He didn’t know what he’d expected? He was a demon, proclamations of love weren’t his forte and Aziraphale had spent so long denying it to Crowley and to himself that maybe he truly believed it now.

_You go too fast for me Crowley._

That night in his Bentley, Crowley’s world had shattered, he’d finally worked up the courage to show the Angel how he felt and he’d made the wrong move and sent Aziraphale running back to Heaven, walls up, fresh denials on his tongue. He’d thought, back in 1941, that finally things were beginning to turn for him. Saving the books that night, the way Aziraphale had looked at him, the electricity in the brush of their fingers, the nights after.

So, instead of sitting down and talking about it, Crowley disappeared for days at time, often reappearing in his flat to find a bottle of wine, or a scarf, or some other trinket of affection left by the Angel on his desk or outside his door. And when Crowley would go to the bookshop the Angel was also gone. So now they played this game, Crowley left a bottle of wine, Aziraphale left a thermos of hot chocolate, Crowley left a first edition book he knew the Angel had been searching for, Aziraphale left a mug with angel wings for a handle. Dancing around each other and their feelings.

Crowley scrubbed his face with his hands, almost knocking his sunglasses flying. What was he doing here, what was being here going to solve? All he was doing was dragging up old, painful memories best left in the past. A century full of love and adventure that had almost killed him. How could he ever tell the Angel? How could he ever dredge that strange tale back up? The knowledge he had gained in that century was dangerous and the idea of heaven or hell gaining such information filled him with a fear he had only ever felt before with the Angel, when he worried about Heaven finding out about their relationship (phst, is that what you’d call it? They were an old married couple who’d never gotten married, never actually even admitted their feelings for each other, too comfortable were they in their arrangement that they were scared to broach the topic for fear of creating discomfort).

Memories flooded through him unbidden, memories of a man, well, not really a man at all; as much a man as he himself. Feelings of love, of insanity, of almost obsessive longing that he had only ever felt for one other creature.

He dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

“Fantastic, absolutely brilliant.” He ground out through gritted teeth. The words punched into his very soul. 

_‘Don’t forget me, will you?’_

_‘I could never forget you.’_

“I can’t.” He sobbed into the cool winter air, glad that the frost was keeping people away from the park. “I tried.”


	2. Build God, Then We'll Talk

The Time War was over and the Doctor was tired, so tired. He sat down in the ruined barn he had once slept in as a child and struggled not to weep, what had he done? Whatever had he-

_Knock knock knock._

The Doctor flung himself to his feet, his weariness forgotten, adrenaline surging, his two hearts jack hammering in his chest, no one could be here; no one could know he was here.

“Knock knock.” A voice came from a crack in the door as a slim hand gripped and slowly opened it.

“Who’s there?!” The Doctor replied and then cursed himself, balling his fists into his pockets, one hand gripping his sonic screwdriver.

“Oh so many jokes could be used right now, but, that’s the real question isn’t it. Who. Is. There?” The drawling voice responded as a man stepped into the failing light coming through the open rafters of the building. The light bounced off the red hair that fell past the man’s shoulders, his lithe body stepped inside the building and closed the door quietly behind him. He was tall, slender and wearing the finery of a 19th century English Dandy. A black tailcoat was buttoned up over a black silk shirt and cravat, dark grey breeches tucked into an odd leather belt and heeled riding boots, over the top was an unbuttoned woollen greatcoat with three shoulder capes flowing down, looking at it the clothing had the Doctor for once feeling like it wasn’t he who was a man out of time.

The Doctor stared at him for a moment.

“The question really is; who are you? Why have I chased you across several galaxies?” That dark voice chimed again, and the Doctor tore his eyes from the stranger’s clothes and looked at his face.

“What’s wrong with your eyes?” He blurted out, unable to stop himself.

The man before him arched a slender eyebrow and took a step forwards.

“Nothing’s wrong with my eyes, they’re just different from yours, now, who are you and why have I been sent to stop you from messing about in the Earth’s business?” He lifted a hand and tucked a lock of red hair behind one ear, a nervous gesture if ever the Doctor had seen one, but not nervous of him, clearly, nervous of something more.

“I’m th- I’m no one.” The Doctor sighed. “Just an old man who doesn’t deserve a name.”

“Give yourself a new one then, that’s what I did.” The stranger chirped brightly and took another step forward.

“And who are you then sir?” The Doctor asked, gripping his sonic screwdriver tighter as the stranger approached.

“Oh, I’m Crowley, perhaps you’ve heard of me?” The stranger, Crowley, grinned a feral grin, teeth glinting in the sunsets that were delving the drylands into dusk.

“Nay a whisper. Why are you here and how did you find me?”

Crowley seemed disappointed at that. “I’ve been assigned to you, apparently you’ve become quite problematic over the years, well, apparently over the centuries but being that you’re nothing to do with either of us I have to believe someone’s fibbing about that.”

The Doctor frowned at the other man; he looked him over once more then drew his screwdriver.

“Easy now old man, what’s that you’ve got?” Crowley curled his fingers together and a small ball of flame burst into life between them.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows, this was new, this creature looked like a human, or a Time Lord, but he was most certainly neither, he didn’t match any other species the Doctor knew of, and the ability to control fire? This was different.

“It’s a screwdriver; put your flame ball away sir.” He grunted and drew the screwdriver up and down the figure before him.

“Why’s it making that noise?” Crowley wrinkled his nose but stayed still.

The Doctor drew the screwdriver to his face and stared at it, then lifted it to his ear, then back to his face. “Impossible.”

“What’s that now?”

“I said it’s impossible, you’re not registering on the sonic screwdriver. You don’t exist. You can’t exist.”

The creature drew his arms out and flourished them. “I clearly do.”

“What is the meaning of this? Is it some trick? What are you hiding?” He almost shouted at Crowley.

Crowley huffed a laugh. “I’m not hiding anything, but you; oh you’re hiding so much, now tell me because my patience is wearing thin. Who are you and why are you meddling in other people’s business?”

“I’m a Time Lord, and if what I did just worked; it means I am the last of the Time Lords sir, what is it to you?”

“A what?” Crowley gave him a confused look.

“How can you be here yet not know what a Time Lord is?”

“I just followed you; honestly I have no idea where I am I rarely leave Earth these days.”

“And you say I’m meddling in someone’s affairs on Earth?”

“Not someone’s, Earth’s affairs, I’m here because somebody downstairs is getting crap from somebody upstairs because you’re running around messing up plans.”

“Do you always garble nonsense sir?” The Doctor’s gravelly voice held a hint of disdain that Crowley clearly didn’t like.

“Do you need me to spell it out for you? You’re pissing people off by stopping things from happening to the humans. I’m here to find out why and what you are, because no one but us should have those powers.”

“And who exactly is ‘us’?”

Crowley barked a laugh at that. “Why, Heaven and Hell of course.”

The Doctor’s mouth fell open and he stared at the man standing in front of him. His mind worked into overtime, trying to piece together everything this creature had so far said to him to try to figure out what was going on. To Crowley it looked like parts of his questions or remarks were being ignored, but the Doctor had made a mental note of everything he’d said.

“Heaven and Hell don’t exist, the only Hell is here.” The Doctor tapped his temple solemnly.

“Poetic, but a load of old claptrap. You say we don’t exist but you’ve gone out of your way to stop our plans, how does that work?”

“I haven’t stopped anyone’s plans; I’ve helped the humans when they’ve needed me. That’s all.”

“Well here’s the thing, they don’t need you, you’re messing up plans created over centuries,” Crowley began to pace back and forth, gesticulating wildly, “we put something into motion and suddenly you pop up and stop us and then you just disappear. How do you change your face if you’re not of Heaven or Hell?”

“I told you sir, I’m a Time Lord.”

“What on Earth is a Time Lord?”

“You’re on my planet, you tell me.”

“Your… Planet?” The words fell slowly from Crowley’s mouth and he stopped his pacing.

“Yes, my planet, you’re on Gallifrey right now, did your people not tell you that?”

“You’re not of Earth?” The creature’s eyes widened and the Doctor was able to get a good look of him, and he stepped back in surprise.

He brandished a finger at Crowley. “Clearly neither are you? What sort of creature are you? What galaxy do you hail from?”

“Galaxy? Are you calling me an alien?”

“If that’s what you want to call other species, yes, what species are you sir? Are you a shape shifter, a Vespiform? A Metamorph? Why have you taken our form?”

Crowley suddenly seemed to dissolve; a great serpent rose up upon its tail and hissed at the Doctor. “Yesss, I am a sshapesshifter, but I have no speciesss, I was alive before speciesss were even created.”

The Doctor wielded his screwdriver at the snake and the device went mad, the noises spiralling until it drowned out the words being hissed at him. “What are you?!” He cried at the creature.

The snake rose up, becoming larger, its shadow enveloping the Doctor. It bared its fangs and screeched at him. “I am a Demon, sssir! And you would do well to remember that before you point such a weapon at me!” It flared forwards, a hood appearing and venom dripping from the needle like teeth in its maw.

The Doctor stumbled backwards and fell to the floor, supporting himself with his arms.

“Demons don’t exist, Heaven and Hell does not exist!” He shouted at the snake and it reeled back onto its stomach, its tongue flicking angrily.

“Yess, they do.” It hissed before it began to change, its body colours seeping outwards until the man, Crowley stood there once more, but this time, he was wearing black robes and black wings spread from his back into the dusty air. “And you’ve fucked them right off mate.”


End file.
